


Escape

by BosieJan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mental Disintegration, Physical Abuse, Season/Series 06 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieJan/pseuds/BosieJan
Summary: Nobody asks Peter what it was like in Eichen House, because they’re afraid to know the truth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I whipped up late last night, after going through some emotional drama regarding Peter. Slightly canon-divergent as he's not seen Stiles in the Riders' train station just yet, according to the 'next week on TW' clip seen after episode 6x04.

Nobody asks Peter what it was like in Eichen House, because they’re afraid to know the truth.

Afraid to find out that Peter was drugged with a wolfsbane-laced concoction that kept him doped out of his skull for twenty two hours a day. The other two hours were a hellish mix of interrogation about where he came from, what his motives were, and the terrible baths he had to endure, at the hands of a hellish orderly by the name of Gant.

Peter was strapped to a gurney and wheeled into what the bastards called ‘the tank’; a bathing station slash surgery, with the floor and four walls covered in pale green tiles. The ceiling was simple white concrete with pipes running this way and that, giving the room a basement-y feel, despite being on the ground floor. 

Gant and his cronies would unstrap Peter, strip him naked, and wrap a thick length of chain around his neck, then lock the other end of it down to a ring in the floor. Peter would have to stand of his own volition but drugged as he was, he often swayed and fell, hurting his knees as his body collapsed, or harming his wrists when he tried to stifle his fall. Peter healed almost immediately, but that didn’t mean the pain wasn’t there when the injuries happened.

A hose as thick as Gant’s forearm was brought in, and it took two men to hold it steady, as the third turned it on with a wrenched pipe fitting on the opposite wall. They sprayed Peter until he was soaked through and often continued after he’d hit the floor, the pressure of the water knocking his knees out from under him and forcing Peter to roll around with his hands in front of his face, trying to block the water. 

If he turned his back, the water stung at his abused back and thighs. If he faced them, it stung his genitals and he nearly drowned from getting the high-pressure liquid right in the face. His body was too weak to fight them off or even fight against the chain holding him, and Gant used this water punishment as an excuse for Peter’s ‘baths’. The patients were bathed three times a week since they hardly moved around or exerted themselves to the point of getting dirty or sweaty, but there was always some kind of body fluids or excrement stuck to Peter’s jogging pants when they stripped him down.

The physical tests were even worse. Peter was electrocuted to see what sort of effect it had on his werewolf abilities. Pain to the extremities brought on a shift in Peter’s facial structure, and pain to the genitals or hands brought on the extension of his claws and distention of his fangs. Enough pain to make him pass out from it brought on Peter’s full-body shift; it wasn’t full wolf like Derek, or Talia, or Laura. It was more like the monster he’d been when he’d bitten Scott. Still more animal than man, but bipedal.

They tested his limits by drowning him, then waiting for his healing to help bring him back around. They knew Peter had been an alpha and had come back to life once, but they had neither the means nor the real understanding of how Peter managed to rise from the grave, so they only went as far as to interrupt the beating of his heart, but never stop it completely.

The fire tests were the worst of it, and even in his drugged state, Peter cried out for them to stop and to have some fucking mercy, since he still thought, in his drug-addled brain–that he was in a hospital, and not Eichen House. They didn’t care if Peter was so frightened of the blowtorches held against his shoulder and cheek that he pissed himself. They didn’t bat an eye as they watched his skin heal right back over the wounds and give them a fresh canvas upon which to work, and Peter’s begging began anew.

_Please, **anything** but the fire! I’ll even take the fucking **water** again!_

_You’re not even **hearing** me, are you? I’m not supposed to **be** here! There’s nothing **wrong** with me!_

But his pleas fell on deaf ~~ignorant~~ ears. Three whole months he endured that torture, until one morning..nothing. No orderly came for him. The halls were free of the constant screams of the other patients. It felt a little cool in his room, but heating was a pipe dream to Eichen House residents. Peter lifted his head from where his body was strapped to his bed for the night, and small, brown leaves blew in under his door.

Peter could swear he heard cowboy spurs and the jingle of chains, but he only gritted his teeth and tried to fight back the growl rising in his throat as a shadow passed the small window on his door. The shadow returned a second later, as if its owner had passed him but then realized that’s where they wanted to be. His door burst inward and Peter gasped sharply, surprised by the sudden movement after the deafening silence only moments earlier.

Peter couldn’t see the man’s face as he stepped in, wearing an outfit as stereotypically ‘cowboy’ as any Halloween gag costume Peter had ever seen. A whip was produced from beneath the long brown duster, and it was immediately snapped free and wrapped around Peter’s ankle, panic rising in Peter’s chest as he realized the bed straps weren’t going to let this guy just rip him right from the bed.

A rebuff was hot on Peter’s tongue but it went unspoken as the cowboy pulled hard at the whip, causing Peter severe, instantaneous pain, which vanished just as quickly as he opened his eyes and found himself standing in a dusty, nearly-silent train station. He glanced down at his clothes and saw things he’d normally dress himself in, and was surprised that his mind felt so clear and unmuddled by medication or abuse.

Peter glanced around, noticing things like a ticketing window, and the signs for Departures and Arrivals. He sighed and looked around again, seeing glassy-eyed people sitting on the benches, all seemingly waiting for what? The train?

“I’ve escaped one prison, only to land in _another_ one..”


End file.
